I Remain, Your Most Faithful Servant,
by Sherloqued
Summary: Whenever the Duke and Thomas are together, protocol is temporarily forgotten.
1. Chapter 1

_"You must understand, Thomas. Beautiful Thomas. The strict societal rules that we live under, especially we of the so-called privileged classes. It isn't as perfect as you might believe. There are expectations, responsibilities, obligations; obligations handed down to me, that render my feelings irrelevant, such as whom I love, and which cannot be overcome."_

_April, 1912_

Once they were alone together, and Thomas had arranged for a footman, William, to bring up his suitcases, Thomas took off his livery-coat and poured them both a glass of scotch from the cut-glass decanter meant for His Grace, Philip noticed with a smile. A welcome sign of their familiarity, and too long awaited. He was a bit tired from the trip. A fire burned warmly in the fireplace. He was happy to let Thomas take the lead.

He relaxed as Thomas helped him out of his traveling clothes and into his dressing gown and slippers; relaxed into, and returned, Thomas' kisses and caresses.

"Tired, my darling." Thomas whispered, perceptive as always.

"Yes, a little." Philp sighed. He enjoyed Thomas' affections, but wondered if the arrangement would suit him, and for how long.

"Well, why don't you have a lie-down before dinner then. Fancy a drink?"

"If you'll join me." Philip walked over to the bed, sat down.

The whisky had the mild effect of making the already tired Philip even more drowsy, and his eyes fluttered closed for a few moments as he leaned back against the pillows.

Thomas turned the key to lock the door. He wouldn't be missed for awhile. It was all right; they had plenty of time. He smiled. Thomas was just as happy to lie next to Philip as he rested.

They'd met at the Crawleys' London residence where he had been a guest, during the summer season, and where Thomas had been assigned to be his valet. Thomas Barrow. The son of a London clockmaker, a guildsman, who also for a time worked with his father repairing clocks (that somehow appealed to Philip, the intricacies of the workings of a clock, the artistry of it, like the workings of a sharp mind) and first footman at Downton Abbey. Tall and splendid in his smart livery, befitting the status of a great house, with black hair and smiling blue eyes, not the grey and sullen, serious eyes of the man standing before him now. More sophisticated and refined than the other servants; but then a valet should be. As it happened, a sophisticated and refined lover too. He was a wonderful dancer, modern and up-to-the minute with the latest thing, and a decent enough cricket player. He could be fiercely ambitious, and naïve to the ways of the world was one thing Thomas was not. Philip just could no longer risk it. It seemed he had a knack for doing most everything well, and winning - without effort, even careless; whether at cards, at games of chance, although none of that seemed to matter to him, really. He seemed to be very blessed; apparently in all but for what he most wanted.

"Lucky at cards, unlucky in love, I'd reckon." he'd overheard Thomas say one evening, through a forced smile, in a moment of unguardedness, surprising him. It was the first time Philip had any indication that there was more to Thomas than his composed exterior did show, and that he was anything other than happy.

Music and dancing could sometimes be heard coming from downstairs when the servants were done for the day, after their supper and before they went to bed, music played on the upright piano in the servants' hall, or records played on the family's gramophone that on occasion they were allowed to borrow. Thomas took his responsibilities seriously though, and his eyes and demeanor never betrayed a thing when working; Philip had made these observations of Thomas discreetly. It had been most important to find someone who could be trusted.

Their limited and ever more anticipated chances at conversation, always punctuated by "Your Grace", but less and less of a barrier to them as they grew to know one another in more intimate and private moments, were refreshing in more ways than one, alleviating the boredom from the routine of social engagements and the endless number of eligible young women of suitable background paraded before him as potential marriage partners.

"I say Barrow, did you grow up in or around North Yorkshire?" he'd asked him, gently initiating conversation, as Thomas helped him with his evening clothes, a quick check to the shoulders of his tailcoat with a clothes brush so that he looked impeccable.

"Lancashire, Your Grace. Manchester."

"Ah, not too fair a distance by railway. Do you miss it much?"

"Sometimes, Your Grace, yes."

"There's no need to be so formal, at least when we're alone. It's all quite tedious isn't it? My name is Philip. And I may call you...?"

"Thomas, Your Grace."

And in this way, they were even able to attend and enjoy events together without anyone so much as batting an eye over any impropriety, such as the boat races and garden parties, concerts, picnics, afternoon strolls through St. James's Park. Their relationship had grown into quite a friendship and reckless infatuation over the summer months, even love, he'd daresay now. Too reckless; foolish heart.

When the Crawleys returned to the country at summer's end, he and Thomas corresponded regularly; whenever Thomas could get a chance to do an errand in the village and visit the post. There would be no easy way to break this to him. It killed him to hurt him in this way, not to mention the agony of possibly not ever seeing him again because of it. It wouldn't be the first time a man chose duty over his own happiness.

"So there it is, Thomas. I must marry and fulfill my obligations." he continued. "The estate is falling down around my ears. I'll have to find an heiress."

"But what about me?"

"I'll find someone so enamoured with title and position she won't even pay attention to me. An American!' he joked, looking up at Thomas with a sheepish grin, as he tried to make light of the situation, but Thomas wasn't smiling. At least until it became time to produce an heir.

"Can't you wish me well?"

"But you came here to be with me." Thomas insisted, speaking in a soft, low voice, slowly kissing Philip's hands, his face, his lips. And knowing and anticipating the response he would get, as well as enjoying it himself and the thought of what might follow, softly groaned in pleasure; and, dissolving into his touch, the Duke of Crowborough began to find it difficult to concentrate on the matter at hand.

"Yes, among other reasons. And to offer my condolences to Lord Grantham, of course."

"And I want to be with you." Thomas said tenderly, looking up at him and smiling at him intimately, holding his gaze as he slowly kissed his hand and held it to his cheek, and then kissed it again, and Philip smiled back at him, and closed his eyes in exquisite pleasure. And the sight of Philip's pleasure pleased Thomas immensely. "I could be your valet."

Philip sighed, but he was resolute. "I just don't see how it can work, Thomas. And besides, one taste doesn't make the man, does it?"

_Yes_, Thomas silently disagreed, _sometimes it does._ At least it had for him.

"You must understand, Thomas. Beautiful Thomas. The strict societal rules that we live under, especially we of the so-called privileged classes. It isn't as perfect as you might believe. There are expectations, responsibilities, obligations; obligations handed down to me, that render my feelings irrelevant, such as whom I love, and which cannot be overcome. You have much more freedom than people like me."

It would be unthinkable for Philip to give up his birthright, and Thomas would never ask or expect it.

Philip held out the sheaf of letters tied with ribbon he'd sent to Thomas over the months, and that his heart had leapt to know that Thomas had saved, meaning to toss them into the fire grate. _They had meant something to him._ He'd stolen them, really. What could he have been thinking. If anyone ever found them, he'd be ruined. And so would Thomas be. He couldn't take that chance, for either one of them.

"If I ever thought you would use these against me...I'll deny it. And who do think they will believe?"

"Don't take them...please...I'd never..." Thomas faltered, in profound confusion and disappointment. "Give them back to me!"

"Then you must give me your solemn oath." Philip interrupted. "Noone must ever know. Swear it. And I will keep the letters safely for us."

"I swear it." Thomas said. He understood that it was a frightening prospect, being found out, the disgrace and condemnation, even prison. Surely that's what this must be about. But others didn't understand that it was a beautiful thing.

"And one more thing, Thomas." He should be ashamed with what he was about to propose next, but there was no other way. "I'd like you to stay tonight, if you still want to. I'd like us to continue our relationship, even so. Nothing has to change. I'm sorry, I know this is coming out all wrong, but I need our friendship. This life of mine is so...so isolating. Say you'll think about it."

But Thomas would not stay, although he did not know what he would do in the future. He gathered up his coat and dignity, and went upstairs, back to his room in the attic servants' quarters. _My dearest Thomas_ indeed; one step above a bloody rent boy was more like it. Shaken, his heart trounced, but he calmed himself, held back tears.

Why was happiness always just beyond his grasp.

_tbc_


	2. Chapter 2

_Christmastime, 1912 - London_

Time to look lively; they'd need him any minute. In the light rain, Thomas finished a cigarette outside in moody silence, waiting for Lady Mary and Anna to finish with an appointment at the dressmaker's. He'd be on hand of course to carry the packages and load the boxes, open doors and hold umbrellas, protecting his Ladyship's hems from the wet, muddy and common streets. Not loitering, but from the side street where he could still keep an eye peeled. He pulled his tweed cap down further and stuffed his gloved hands into his coat pockets as he waited anxiously, pacing, one foot to the other.

Still, as far as being in service went, he could do worse. He didn't meant to sound churlish and ungrateful. Lord and Lady Grantham were very decent to work for and quite generous; word was belowstairs that they had seen to the eye operation that Mrs. Patmore had so desperately needed. He looked forward to accompanying them or Mrs. Patmore to the village or to London; to see such fine things, if only from a distance. Fancy pastries and breads, chocolates and sweets, teas, fine wines, jewel-feathered pheasants hanging up to age in butcher's shops. The fine men's bespoke tailoring of suits and shirts at Savile Row in Mayfair. The servants would usually be given time off to do their own shopping and errands then too, and he'd often send a letter to Philip. He loved London; and enjoyed having some time to himself.

There was no kinder soul than Anna Bates; he'd sometimes wince a little to think of how awfully he'd treated her husband when Mr. Bates first came to Downton. He'd said and done some things he wasn't very proud of. After Mr. Carson, Thomas was becoming a most trusted servant. He'd never do anything to jeopardize that.

Just before he was about to go back into the shop; he heard the sound of a motor's engine. He looked over to see a Renault Landaulet pulling up a bit further down the street, and the chauffeur, an older gentleman, step out and enter a shop ahead of its passenger. No fiancée in sight though.

"Thomas."

Philip, wearing a dark charcoal grey overcoat with a black-trimmed collar over his suit, Homburg hat wih curled brim and dove grey leather winter gloves, stepped out of the car; discreetly waved him over. Thomas looked 'round briefly, then hunched his shoulders against rain that was turning to sleet and hurried over to him.

"Please, come in." Philip said, holding the car door for Thomas, and slipped in beside him.

"I only have a few minutes." Thomas said. "They'll be expecting me back soon. What was it you wanted to speak to me about."

"I'm afraid I'm not very good at keeping to my own rules, am I." Philip said, taking off his hat and gloves. "I've missed you, Thomas."

Thomas reached over and gently touched Philip's cheek; then pulled him close. "I'm glad to see you!" he whispered.

"I read about your engagement in the papers."

"Yes, everyone agrees it's a good match. Especially Mother."

Looking cheerless, Philip turned to gaze out of the car window for a moment, then looked back to Thomas. "And no doubt you also read about the arrest of the famous writer for indecency too, did you?"

"I don't care." Thomas said, suddenly defiant. Philip took Thomas' hand in his. Thomas hadn't realized that he would make up his mind right then and there. He loved Philip.

Philip smiled though there was concern in his eyes, patted Thomas' hand. "Good." he breathed, relief in his voice. "I knew you would be this way...strong, brave enough...hoped...almost from the moment I laid eyes on you, going about as if you owned the place...I hope you are certain about this."

"Listen, Thomas...I've had an idea. How would you like to come and work for me."

"So does this mean I'm to be your valet?"

Philip smiled. "I had something more official in mind. In my office. A clerkship, to start. You'd be wonderful. There's a very good chance that I will be given a diplomatic post to Egypt in the near future. And of course, it's a way that we could be together. Not the best situation in that way, but we do what we must do. I will provide you with mentorship and guidance; but of course you will have to prove yourself on your own merits. I won't have a scandal. You have my greatest affection, Thomas, and I want to make you happy. If it's something you would want. Will you accept."

Thomas was stunned; speechless, then overjoyed. Something he would want? Of course he would want it. He could not question nor claim to understand the way the world worked, and those rich and powerful who controlled it. For once, he was on the right side of it. It was all very exciting. He didn't need to think twice. He could not go on condemned to the living death of never being able to express his love.

"Yes...of course yes...I accept. I'm very grateful. I promise you, you won't regret it. I'll do my utmost best."

"Very good then. Now, if Lord Grantham will forgive me for stealing you away from his staff and we give a proper notice and take care of the particuars - salary, references, training, civil service examination, those sorts of things - we can get started sometime after the Christmas holidays."

"So I wasn't just your eyes and ears at Downton?" Thomas grinned.

"No." Philip chuckled softy. "Certainly not." You will be my eyes and ears, and heart, everywhere.

"You're not just very handsome, Thomas, but very bright and capable. You deserve better than the mundane and ordin'ry. A chance to see the world, whatever you want to do."

Thomas drew him into a deep kiss, and Philip's lips parted, opening to his tongue, stroked Philip's thigh through his trousers. The black, velvety-looking trim on Philip's coat that he had noticed from a distance earlier was astrakhan. His necktie was a beautiful paisley silk. In the close confines of the back of the car, Thomas could smell the mild scent of the soap Philip used, or perhaps it was his cologne. He smelled wonderful, intoxicating. The scent brought back to him a rush of memories of the summer at Grantham House, where he had first slept with Philip, spent the whole night together and into the next morning, and more than once, too.

He gave Thomas a set of gold cufflinks of his that Thomas had particularly admired.

"Have them." he said.

"I couldn't."

"Please." And then he took them and pressed them into Thomas' palm, closing Thomas' fingers around them, and then his around Thomas'.

Thomas looked into Philip's face and could barely breathe. At almost thirty, he was handsome in that seemingly perennially boyish and youthful way that some lucky men were, no matter their years, with even the suggestion of a little bit of mischievous fun, especially when he smiled; with light brown hair and golden, hazel eyes; leonine, slim and compact in build. Thomas himself would soon be 27. Philip spent a lot of time playing sports as young men of his social class did, with its insular network of the high-born and well-connected (even though with a couple of his old school chums it was like talking to a bedpost, he'd said); his body was athletic and he had a mercury-quick wit. Thomas hoped this happiness would not slip away as elusively. He rested his head on Philip's shoulder.

But there was a rebellious side to Philip too, that eschewed all that, and longed for his own destiny, however unknown it might be. Thomas guessed that it must be human nature for a man to never be happy in the circumtances God gave him. He knew there were those who would trade places with him in an instant.

"Chuck it all, I don't care". he'd said, throwing up his hands, as if to dismiss everything he felt besieged by, during one of his many conversations philosophical. Thomas had just laughed trying to imagine Philip trying to get by as a poor, lowly servant.

"You're daft, you are." Thomas had scoffed. "I'd give you a day at best!"

"Oh, a lot longer than that I assure you. A week, a month, even." Philip teased. "Or maybe I'll travel round like a vagabond, everywhere. Want to go with me?"

"At least you have that choice!" Thomas said, glaring at him, cheeks flushing red.

Philip had just grinned back at him, giving him a playful shove in a mock challenge, and Thomas pushed him back, and then took a pretend swing at him with his fists raised. They stumbled around the room like that, laughing and having a good-natured row, until Thomas slipped and and fell onto the Persian carpet. It was a good thing they were at Grantham House and not Downton; because he'd catch it on account of all the noise and racket, and given a lecture on proper servant's decorum by Mr. Carson. It wouldn't ever be the fault of someone like Philip. "Shhhhhhhhhhh!" he'd tried to utter, between breathless gasps of laughter, physical exertion, and the beginnings of his desire. He grabbed Philip's legs and pulled him down onto the floor too, and Philip rolled on top of him and kissed him. Thomas pulled away, in shock at first; but then kissed him back, then again and again. Philip had been his first.

They stayed like that, quietly together, in the screened privacy of the backseat of the car, and Philip held Thomas' hand for a few more minutes. Outside, the car's drizzle-streaked windows made shoppers and passersby oblivious to them. They felt like they were at the beginning of a great change, but they could not have guessed just how far-reaching that change would be, far beyond the two of them; a great modernizing, an entire change to the social order, of all that they had known.

"I'd better go." Thomas finally said. Lady Mary and Anna would be wondering where he'd got to. He and Philip both exited the car, and after a moment or two the young Duke's chauffeur returned. Lady Mary and Anna both knew about Thomas' sexual orientation, as did Lord and Lady Grantham, and did not seem the least concerned about it; but it was best not to push his luck. He really should be counting his blessings. It would be difficult to leave Downton; but he knew that the family would not begrudge him his chance at love and fulfilment, and success, and that he'd always have a home there. The Abbey had a way of winning one's heart, whether born to it upstairs, or from outside and downstairs.

"Please give Lord and Lady Grantham my best wishes for a Happy Christmas, and Happy Christmas to you and your family as well."

"I will. Happy Christmas to you and yours also."

"Ah, here they are now."

Thomas looked over to see Lady Mary and Anna coming out of the shop in a flurry of packages and shop attendants.

"How lovely to see you, Duke."

"Lady Mary. Well, this is a pleasant surprise. I just happened to see Thomas, and was asking him to give my best wishes to the family for a Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas to you and your family as well." she said.

She offered her hand and he took it for a moment. Lady Mary did not seem to bear Philip any ill will after his abrupt departure during his last visit to Downton, and her resulting dashed marriage hopes, or of 'losing the big fish', as he had overheard her sister Lady Edith so wryly observe. But that was months ago and Lady Mary had many other suitors to choose from.

"Well, I must be off. Terrible weather, eh Thomas?" he said, putting back on his hat and gloves.

"Best not to take chances in this weather, Your Grace."

The Duke of Crowborough's chauffeur opened an umbrella for him to protect him from the rain. Thomas had no one who could protect him but Philip.

_tbc_


End file.
